


Retrace

by PersonalityTest



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3931159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonalityTest/pseuds/PersonalityTest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is that time again, and you make the journey once again. Inaho-centric. AU-ish. Orangebat if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retrace

* * *

_-for the children who couldn't grow up-_

* * *

It's that time again, and you make the journey once again.

It's like clockwork.

If you're being really honest, your whole life is – _has_ been clockwork. Live. Eat. Go to school. Take one test after another. Go home. Sleep. Wake up. The process starts again.

The war comes. Military training. Battles. Victory, victory, victory, one after another.

They say you live to win. You were born to win. And you wonder if it's a blessing or the universe laughing at you, when all you can see reflected in the mirror is a ghost with no more battles to win and nothing left to lose.

* * *

The flight from Europe to Japan takes you 8 hours and 14 minutes.

It should have taken longer, but being the military's personal fighting doll has its perks. Besides, the crew is far too familiar with you – it's hard not to when they see you year after year after year. Like clockwork.

"The usual, sir?" The pilot asks, but they both know it's just a technicality by this point. Five years is long enough to establish the habit, probably.

You nod, climb up the railing. The hangar closes behind you. People hurry about, clearing the way for the take-off, and then you are airborne. Just on time. Just like clockwork.

.

The roaring of the engines keeps you awake, and you don't like to sleep much these days anyway, so you sit there and fiddle with your tablet. Two hours later it gets boring, and so you start doing some backlogged work. An hour later you finish everything – besides, you are already months ahead of your work anyway– and you try to sleep.

The first twenty minutes is murky darkness and indistinct roaring. The next fifteen minutes, your mind starts flashing back to the war, and you decide you're done with sleep for the day.

But then you have nothing to do and six hours to wait, so you do a crossword on some newspaper. Ten minutes later you finish the crossword, and you ask for something to drink. Fifteen minutes later you get tired of watching the ice cubes melt and ask someone to take it away, and you return to your seat – this time with nothing to do.

Five hours.

It feels like forever. It _should_ feel like forever.

You're serving your sentence, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

You avert your eyes from the harsh sunlight.

It's always sunny at this time of the year – another cog in your perfect gears. You don't particularly care for the weather, but you probably will be a little annoyed if the sky turns cloudy in one year or another.

Yuki-nee says you're too dependent on your clockwork, and you think it's moments like these that prove her right.

You don't really care.

.

Twenty minutes.

The townspeople recognize you. This is a quaint, isolated town anyway – any visitor is a big deal in this place – and besides, they're retired military officers. They have seen you a thousand times, even more; especially around five years ago.

You go around and hand out gifts; small necessities to make their lives easier, some jewellery from streetside vendors that caught your eye, toys for the few children around here. They ask questions – because they know you don't – and you answer; they tell you about their lives and you listen.

As soon as you take out the toys, the three children lunge at you and you can't handle the weight and you all fall to the ground in a heap. They laugh, they squabble and pull at your sleeves, and some adults half– heartedly tell them to get off you but they know you don't really mind the ruckus, and you think this is the closest thing to happiness you have had for a while.

But soon enough, it's time to say goodbye.

You see Yuki-nee's truck skid to a stop just outside the fence, and the children do, too. They pout and latch on to you, but this time the adults help you pick them off and you say your goodbyes.

As you drive away, the townspeople's forms recede in the distance, but you try to burn the three children into your mind. There are two boys standing on either side of a bright, cheery girl; the boys have this mischievous, clever, a little bit jealous glint in their eyes that look just like yours – and his – when both of you were sixteen, and a pang of regret hits you like a punch in the gut.

You wonder if in another life, with a kinder fate, your lives could have been just like this, too.

* * *

"You don't have to keep going back there, you know."

"They are good people, and they have helped me a lot five years ago. I feel it's only fair to return the favor."

"Then send some letters and gifts once every few weeks or so. They know you're busy, they'll understand."

"...It's not just that."

"Don't you think it's time to break the habit, Nao-kun? My place is just around the corner, I'll take you there –"

"No. Just keep going, Yuki-nee. ... _Please_."

* * *

Your next destination is the Deucalion.

Calm is the first one to notice you, and he calls everyone over to say hi. You really don't understand the point – they rope you into video calls every week and fly to Europe on the Deucalion (they're really abusing their authority, but they don't care and neither do you) for a monthly obligatory dinner. You don't understand why they get so excited, but you go along anyway.

They fuss over you and ask a bunch of questions you can barely answer; but honestly, they don't expect you to. They already know how you suck at conversational topics, and if they want to know anything about you then Yuki is the better person to ask.

And then the topic shifts, and everyone starts to talk about how they have been these days. Calm is now the head technician of the ship. Inko is studying to be a politician. Nina is shaping up to be the captain of the ship now that Capt. Magbaredge and Mizusaki are going to be promoted to Headquarters. Rayet has long left the Deucalion to travel, but she sends a postcard once in a while. Marito is training the new recruits. Everyone is doing well to get past the war and heal the scars it left behind.

Everyone except you.

.

"So, the usual?" Now that everything has cooled down somewhat, Calm walks over, smiling good-naturedly, but you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. "Doesn't it get tiring sometimes?"

"It doesn't matter."

"That's not answering the question and you know it." Calm rolls his eyes, but knows better than to argue with you. "Well, it's not my place to probe anyway. You'll be taking one of the Sky Carriers, then?"

"Yes."

"Well, you know where we keep them. Have a safe trip, Inaho. And..."

You can definitely see the worry in his eyes. You don't really care.

"What is it?" You ask anyway, because five years of Yuki-nee trying to dissuade you from making this trip every year tired you out and you would rather get this over with.

"...No. It's nothing."

* * *

As much as you'd like to, you can never get used to piloting a Sky Carrier.

Not that you'll ever need to – or at least you hope so. You got out of the first war with glory and fame, but you don't want to have to live through another. You don't want to lose any more friends. Wars destroy people, and it took you years and millions of lives lost and that empty feeling inside for you to understand, but once you do, you can't go back to normal. No one can ever go back to normal again.

You dock the Sky Carrier – your technique still a little bumpy and amateurish, but with little practice it can't be helped – and get to work. You check the progress of the third Hypergate, ask for reports, double-check numbers and data and patrol the moon base, just to be sure. Everything is routine, is clockwork, and it all passes by you in a blur.

A quiet, unassuming door to your right comes into sharp focus.

Of course.

This is part of your patrol, too. It's part of the reason why you are here.

You open the door and enter, and the young girls standing on the elevated platform nearly let out a scream before they calm down and realize who you are.

"It's you." The older girl speaks first. "It's that time again, isn't it?"

You nod. That's enough of an answer for her, and she turns around to gaze at the glittering stars once again. The short brunette next to her sneaks a glance at you, but says nothing.

"...That's why he caught your attention." The girl tries to make it sound nonchalant, but the way she fiddles with her pink locks tells you otherwise.

"Pardon?"

"Because we're similar. You and I."

"That doesn't prove anything." You point out.

"The fact that you are here says otherwise." She retaliates. And you find that you can't think of anything to say back, and so you settle for a polite goodbye, an awkward 'I'll see you again' and leaves his former office without another word.

* * *

After the moonbase, you take the Sky Carrier once again, this time to the UFE Headquarters. You hop off the Sky Carrier and come face to face with your former Captain, Darzana Magbaredge, and her aide, Mizusaki.

"I suppose her official title now is Assistant Director, UFE International Strategic Relations. But to you she'll always be my aide, isn't that right? Kaizuka Junior?"

You nod slightly, and the teasing smile on your Captain's face falls flat.

"You never change, Inaho." You never thought you would hear her call you by your first name, and you look up at her slightly pitying expression. "I understand that doing this gives you peace of mind, and everyone copes differently, but –"

"If you understand, please do not question me." You retort in a voice colder than ice, trying to ignore the silent anger bubbling behind your composure. "You should know me better than that."

And Magbaredge, being the smart woman she is, abandons the topic, and you feel yourself calming down and you unclench your fists (wincing a little at the half-moon-shaped bruises on your palm).

"One word of advice, Kaizuka Junior." Magbaredge calls, just as you have finished your inspection and prepare to head back.

"And that is?" You ask, a little suspiciously.

"...Live."

.

The second Hypergate was built on UFE Headquarters grounds, seven years ago. It stands like a monument, a reminder of the fragile peace existing between two planets and the horrors of war, so that no one who has suffered from this war, absolutely _no one_ , will ever think of tearing apart this reprieve.

You don't really care.

You walk to the back of the building, where another, much smaller monument stands. It is a memorial for the people who died in the Battle of Novolstal'sk, both Terrans and Martians. You circle around the bronze plaque – inscribed with the names of those who died – a few times, trace your finger along the lines of names of strangers, and pause at the end.

And just as you have done for the past few years, this time, too, you write the name 'Slaine Troyard' at the end of the list with your finger.

Because he, too, was a casualty; because he said this is the place his heart died. Where he let go of his entire life for that one single purpose and did whatever was necessary to reach his goal.

Did he succeed?

You don't really know.

Nobody does. Not even him.

You look at the name one more time; and even though you know that the dust will settle once again and you'll come here again and writes his name here once again only for it to disappear next year, you don't care.

It is clockwork, after all.

* * *

You walk back to the front, step into the Hypergate, and relax as the familiar light blinds your one good eye. It takes you a few moments to regain your bearings, but soon enough everything stops spinning and the grand, majestic castle of Vers come into your focus.

The place is exactly as you remember. The marble halls. Air thick with imperial silence. Aldnoah-powered, sort-of multicolored lights shining from above, making the walls dance in colors – purple, pink, cyan, harlequin, alizarin, your eyes can't keep track.

A singing voice.

The servant opens the door. The singing abruptly stops, and Empress Asseylum turns to face you.

"Kaizuka-san, what a surprise. We are honored," or so she says, but you both know she's lying. This is anything but a surprise visit.

"Good evening, Your Highness," you say, while starting to slip into your formal persona. "I am pleased to see you well."

"You are here to inquire about the current Hypergate project and Aldnoah registration program, I presume?"

"Yes."

"As you wish. Please, follow me."

.

Technically, you are not lying. You are here to check the progress of the royal family's latest projects. It's part of your job description, and the reason why your superiors even allow you to travel back and forth like this. But it's not that simple.

"Should you be drinking?" You ask as she hands you a glass of wine.

"It's okay." Seylum smiles. "It's a special occasion, after all."

"Where is Emperor Klancain?" You drop the formalities entirely, but she doesn't mind.

"He's off to supervise the Hypergate. The opening ceremony is a year from now, and we want to make sure it goes off without a hitch."

You nod and say nothing.

"Will you come? To the ceremony?"

"This time next year?" She nods.

"No."

She nods again, as if she's expected your answer from the beginning. After all, she knows you won't change, not so easily. She has accepted that unlike her, you can never move on. And you are grateful because she understands, because it saves you a ton of trouble. Just look at everyone else. ...No, it's better with Seylum.

At that moment, your watch starts beeping urgently, and you both know your time here is up.

.

"Please...send him my regards."

"I will."

.

"Seylum-san."

"Yes?"

For some reason, the words get stuck in your throat. "Is...is the war over?"

She understands. Your hesitant question. The terror buried deep in your voice. Your despair and hopelessness.

"...It never is. Not for you."

You allow yourself a rare smile.

"...I'm glad."

* * *

You set foot on Europe after a long, long day that felt like months, even years. Twenty-five years, to be exact. You have lived twenty-five years in a single day, and you are tired, and a part of you want to stop. You wonder how he could have lived like this.

But right now, you have no time to reminisce. You have to return soon, before the clock strikes twelve and your tiny, pitiful world changes forever.

You break into a sprint.

The streets are darkly illuminated, but the lights are bright enough that you can see even with just one eye. You hop past haphazard wooden fences, dodges the throng of passerbys mulling about the street (ignoring some panicked yelps as you streak by). You almost step on a cat's tail once. You run like your life depends on it, and –

You have never felt more _alive_.

Not since five years ago.

For a moment, you pretend that you are on the battlefield. Gunfire erupts around you – none hit, they should get more training, at this rate they can't even win a game of darts much less fight a war – and you're running, and he's chasing you, and you remember that you have an enemy to fight and a war to end. He is the person who reminds you that this war is still going on, will never end, and he will be here to fight you for as long as it takes.

The illusion fades. The battle around you disappears, and you are alone in front of a quaint, unassuming cottage deep in the woods.

.

Slaine Troyard died at the age of twenty-five – and so did your purpose for living.

A heart defect. Honestly, he never thought he would die of a heart defect of all things. Neither did you.

You remember that day well. The day he collapsed and his heart stopped for eight seconds, and you nearly screamed at the guards to take him to the hospital; _no, it doesn't matter where, the secret doesn't matter, I don't care, as long as he stays alive._

And that was when he knew you need him. He knew you are clinging onto the past, that you are the only one missing the battlefield in the midst of hard-earned peace. He reminds you of the war. He reminds you that not yet, it's not over, as long as one enemy is left standing it is never over.

He pitied you. He tried to tell you to move on, because unlike him, you can move on. You didn't really care. You just wanted him alive, so that you can have an illusion, an obsession to hold onto.

And so, when he was twenty and you were nineteen, you finally convinced Headquarters to move him to a cottage in Northern Europe, where he was born. He was dying, you said. You were friends – this was not a lie, you were tolerating each other and he still held a grudge but most of it was replaced by pity for you. You would make sure he stayed there until he died.

You would do anything. You would do any dirty job, invent or modify any technology they wanted. You would be their personal fighting doll for life. As long as they allow you this one favor – and the offer was too good to pass up.

And it seems that like Seylum, he was too perceptive for his own good, and he knew living like this would ruin you. And maybe because of kindness, maybe as thanks for allowing him to see the sky and breathe fresh air again, he tried to save you.

It was just little things. He planted a little willow tree in the backyard and told you to take care of it after he died. He told you about his tragic life, and his wish for peace, and there was something in his voice that made you want to believe in his conviction. He asked you to look into his father's research and continue it in his stead.

He tried to give you purpose. He tried to keep you alive without the illusion of a war to cling to.

He _died_.

And so did the purpose of your useless life.

.

You open the door to the cottage to find that nothing has changed. The (still messy) little bed on the right side of the wall, exactly as he has left it. The neat bed on the left side of the wall – originally yours – that was left unused for five long years. His father's research scattered on the little table in the corner. There are signs of disuse, and the air smells a little musty and a layer of dust has settled on everything.

You don't really care.

You stride to the huge drawer with its back to the far wall, on the other side of the room. It's empty save for a framed photo perched on top – a photo of the two of you, days before he died, standing next to the sapling of the willow tree. And as a habit, you remove the photo from the frame, turn it around and read the only line in his scrawled (flowery) handwriting.

_'In case you need a reason to live.'_

* * *

Tomorrow will just be another day for you.

You'll wake up (and since you're already here) water the willow tree, maybe trim it a little – it's looking a bit unkempt.

You'll appear on TV for a talkshow (you hate those things, really) and be the face for Empress Asseylum's goodwill campaign, encouraging people to embrace her wish for peace.

You'll fly around the world doing side jobs for the UFE as promised, and maybe have some time to read the rest of the research papers on Aldnoah he gave you (you're just at page 141 and you already want to give up because you don't hold a doctorate in bioengineering and those scientific jargon is everywhere) along the way.

You'll do all those things tomorrow; in the hopes that one day, you can escape the shadows of the battlefield and find the peace of mind he promised you. Right now, that is the purpose of your life. But, at this moment, just before the clock strikes twelve…

"I'm home, Slaine."

_The war is over._

.

.

.

_end._

**Author's Note:**

> Ahahaha why did I ever think this was a good idea ;;______;; At first I saw an angst orangebat fic and was like 'I can do better than that' and 3 hours later here we are and I think I'm dead inside aaaaaa


End file.
